


Rollercoasters and Rocket Scientists

by MechBull



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, if you squint then maybe Simmons/Ward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2728187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MechBull/pseuds/MechBull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She counts the days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rollercoasters and Rocket Scientists

**Author's Note:**

> Possible spoiler - one section inspired by the promo for the midseason finale.

_Day 1_

Blue.

It overwhelmed her senses. The dark blue, almost black, of the water that had nearly been her grave, that she had fought against as she pulled herself and Fitz up, up, up. And then the sudden, clear, bright sky as she burst through the surface. She had blinked against it, trying to see, not quite believing when she had spotted the solid shape of the helicopter and Director Fury reaching out across the expanse.

~~Blue blue blue all around her, the oxygen ripped from her lungs as she tried to scream, tears whipped away as soon as they formed. She thought about all she had to live for, remembering the look in Fitz’ eyes as he stared back at her, afraid and yet focused only on her. A hand reaching out, grabbing her, holding her tight and saving her life. The antiserum to her thigh, a spark, and then nothing.~~

The beautiful hue of Fitz’ eyes that she might never see again. 

 

_Day 4_

The anger that surged through her almost terrified her. She wanted to fly into a rage, beat on, blame, and yell at everyone. At Coulson who kept disappearing to work on various rebuilding efforts, at the medical staff who _hmm_ ed as they poked and prodded and skirted around the question of whether he’d ever wake up, at May who offered silent support as she sat in the corner of the room, at Skye who slipped in late at night and wrapped blankets around her shoulders, at Trip who tried to get her to eat and sleep, at Koenig who kept pestering her to sit through that damn orientation again so she could get her pointless lanyard. Sometimes she was nearly convinced she had accidentally touched the Berserker staff and she was just now feeling its delayed effects.

~~With each step, she felt more secure, more confident, as if she were still solidly on the ground. She could hear his voice as he attempted to distract her with questions, feel his arm hovering slightly off to the side, ready to catch her (again). She could barely believe it, later, when this same man, who had been so supportive, so understanding, turned on her, unable to control his temper as his adrenocorticotropic hormone levels spiked.~~

So much anger. As red hot as the streaks through Agent Hand’s hair, as the blood she wished she could see flowing down _his_ face from the wounds she gouged into his skin. 

 

_Day 9_

She stroked his hair softly as she waited. The medical part of her brain knew he was waking up, could see it in the output on the monitors, in the shifting of his body and the small movements of his eyes underneath their thin lids. But the part of her that was still a little girl, still sad and lonely far far away from home, who only had one real friend in the whole world, couldn’t quite believe it yet. Wouldn’t believe it until he said her name – either one – and smiled at her. She exhaled roughly, all cried out after so many days, and then she moved onto the bed fully. Rearranging him so his head was on her lap, she held him closer. Waiting, waiting, waiting, until she knew the danger was past and they were safe again.

~~Her throat still hurt from where the man had tried to choke her as he passed between worlds (and really, how _fascinating_ ). The utility closet was small and dark, and Fitz was close enough to reach out and touch if she needed to. They had explained the situation to May as best as they could, and it seemed there was nothing left to do but wait. She looked down again at the head resting in her lap, rubbed a thumb ever so slightly against his shoulder in some attempt to comfort herself as much as him. Finally, thankfully, he began to stir. “There he is.”~~

Finally, at last, he looked up at her. So scared, so confused. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and his brow furrowed as he closed it again. 

 

_Day 20_

She watched from the door of the room, hoping he didn’t see her. He always tried too hard, pushed himself too much when he knew she was watching. And she always wanted to reach out, aid, support. But she knew in the long run, that wouldn’t help. He needed to be able to do it on his own. The therapists guided him through the process again and again, a few more steps each time he tried to walk, a few more exercises each time they worked his hand, a few more seconds of silence each time before they supplied his missing words. She’d wince at his frustration, his pain, his anger and defensiveness that were always so quick to rise and were even more so now. She wished there was something she could do. She wished he realized how brave and strong he really was. 

~~Fitz was tucked back in the lab, safe and sound where he belonged, no worse for the wear, but still complaining about how he was starving even despite the fantastic – “no, really, probably your best one yet. Did you do something new with the aioli?” – sandwich. So she was on her own mission to the kitchen, more than happy to make him another one. It had been far too many long, stressful hours, but he was home. Partly thanks to her and Skye’s own actions, and she still couldn’t believe she had _shot_ Agent Sitwell, and partly thanks to…to the man in front of her, making his own victory meal. She paused for a moment, watching him from the door of the room. And seconds later, without turning around, he asked her what she needed. She smiled. Of course he knew she was there; he was a hard man to sneak up on. So she walked closer and stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Hey,” he said softly, “he was the one who had _my_ back.” She nodded. “I heard. But thanks anyway. I’m glad you’re both OK.”~~

5:30 AM. On the dot every morning. How could he possibly know? She watched him every single day, strangely grateful there was no way he could feel her eyes on him through the video feed. She needed to understand how he ticked, to know everything about him so he could never catch her off-guard again. She needed to figure out how so much trust and affection could end in cold betrayal. Because she couldn’t help but feel she was hurtling inevitably closer to an even larger betrayal than his.

 

_Day 42_

“Sorr – uh, sorry.” She didn’t say anything, simply watched Fitz’ hands shake as he righted the equipment he had nearly toppled. She had learned already, even though they were only a few hours into his first attempt to return to the lab, that trying to help him or even trying to say something at moments like these just made everything worse. If she squinted, if she reached into the far corners of her memory, she could pretend that his clumsiness and nerves and inability to finish a sentence were for the same reason as they had been that first day in chem lab so many years ago. She could pretend it was a new beginning for them, of sorts. But she didn’t know how long she could keep that charade up. 

~~The snipping between the two of them had gotten to be a bit too much to take. Her relief at the suggestion that Fitz go talk to Donnie was only partly because it really was a good, and _adorable_ , idea. Honestly, they had left the Academy about a decade ago. Their little boy rivalry accomplished nothing, not at a time like this when students were in danger. But, later, when they were in the Boiler Room, she vaguely understood Fitz’ feelings of superiority. She couldn’t quite stop herself from rubbing it in. “Did not think so,” she said, fighting a smirk, because honestly, he really was too easy to tease.~~

Fitz had been her best friend for over a third of her life. They had been beside each other, in various labs, laughing and fighting and discovering and inventing for so long. She didn’t know how to do this without him; she couldn’t figure out how to work with the new him. Before, every new day offered up so much potential for the things they could accomplish together. And now, every single day felt darker and harder and longer. She loved Fitz. He was her soulmate and the person she had always planned to spend the rest of her life with. But was he more than that, like she was for him – or rather, could she love him in the way he wanted? Because it was impossible for him to be _more_. There was no such quantity as more than the everything he already was.

She didn’t know what that meant for them. And she was pretty sure she’d never be able to decide, never be willing to risk it, if things stayed like this. 

The only emotion inside her that wasn’t constantly confused was the almost overwhelming hatred. The need for revenge. She knew she couldn’t get her hands on the man in the basement, knew that he was still technically too valuable. So she started to wonder how else she could make all this loss and this pain worthwhile. If she couldn’t kill _him_ with her bare hands, what would be the next best thing? Who else could she get back at? 

 

_~~Day 71~~ Her Last Day_

The last few weeks had been filled with practice and planning. With preparation. Long discussions with Coulson about what her priorities and strategies should be. Basic, emergency fight training with May that deep down they all knew would never be enough if things came to that. Avoiding Skye and Trip in case they got too suspicious. Trying to seem like everything was fine with Fitz. If she acted the role long enough, maybe it’d start to feel real. 

Old failures echoed through the walls of her mind, reminding her she had to do better if she wanted to survive. “Left a dummy round in the pistol, should be proper now.” “I like men that are about my height but heavier than me.” “Absent American father.” 

~~She twisted in her seat, not paying attention to his words as she reached a hand out towards his wounds. But he stopped her, holding onto her and squeezing with reassurance. Told her to find Skye and Fitz and stay safe, promising to return for them. She moved quickly, not looking back but knowing he was leading the threat away from her.~~

She plastered on a smile, so wide it pained her. One deep breath and then another, and then she walked into the lab. “Fitz,” she called out, interrupting his latest attempt to figure out cloaking. She was nearly certain he had made no changes to the test device in the last three days. 

When he looked up at her, his eyes guarded and distant when they used to be bright and trusting, she almost lost her nerve. But staying would do no good.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving tomorrow.” His brow furrowed with unspoken distress and she soldiered on. “Gonna go visit my mom and dad.”

“Oh,” he looked down, exhaling and shuffling his feet slightly. “Ah, OK. Yeah, and…when you get – get back, we…we, uh, can…” 

He pointed somewhat helplessly at the test device and gave her a small smile she could only guess was meant to reassure her. 

“Absolutely,” she replied, rushing to get out her response before her throat choked up. “Better go pack. See you soon.”

It was the most convincing lie she ever told. 

 

_Day 165_

The clomping of booted feet was almost in rhythm, reflecting the military nature of the men escorting him. Each step echoed through the hall, and she braced herself as they came closer. She didn’t really notice most of them – all of her attention was focused on the man in the center, wearing nothing more than scrubs and handcuffs. He turned his head to the side, and she could guess who stood on the other side of the window he just passed. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he looked sad, guilty, regretful.

She knew better.

~~Fitz was still fighting, still begging. Sweet, naïve Fitz who couldn’t let go of the hope, who wouldn’t give up on someone he believed was a friend. Her eyes darted back and forth, not wanting to let either man out of her sight for too long for two very different reasons. She could feel the pod jolt as it started to move, and knew they were running out of time. His back was to them but it seemed like he said something; between Fitz shouting in her ear and the glass door muffling all sound, there was no way she would have ever been able to make it out. The pod picked up speed then, and he turned to look at them. She screamed his name once more, holding eye contact until he was out of sight and gravity took over.~~

He focused on Skye then, said her name imploringly. She stepped forward, blocking her friend from his sight and forcing him to look at her instead. She held his gaze steadily, not letting herself be affected by the almost hurt expression he was obviously faking, and made him a promise that was the absolute truth.

 

_~~Day 200~~ Their First Day_

He could barely look at her, and it was killing her. The worst part was knowing it – all of it – was her own damn fault.

“I can work for you. I just can’t work with you.”

Long after he left, the words continued to ring in her ears. Best. He thought it was best. Fitz, who never gave up on anyone or anything, who defended lost causes and clung to shreds of hope, thought it was best. It felt like her heart was tearing in two. They were a team. If nothing else, they were a team. 

~~Only hours before they had been shouting at each other, separated by the lab table literally and a much larger gulf figuratively. And now, they were relaxing with celebratory beers, laughing, sharing responsibility and credit for a successful, if somewhat destructive, solution. The rocket blasted off, and the contentment she felt seemed to reflect its distant warmth and glow. She and Fitz traded off commentary, explaining to the others what was happening, until they were interrupted by a familiar, but now much less hostile, “Guys. English.”~~

She clung to Fitz, their earlier argument and the weeks of miscommunication and misunderstanding forgotten as they faced danger yet again. The walls shook around them, debris falling all around. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking as much strength as she could from the arms around her and the chest she leaned against. It wouldn’t be much longer now, but at least, in this moment, they had each other again. 

And then, suddenly, it was over. The room they were in had held up, and they were still alive. Granted, they now needed to find a solution to being trapped, but she was sure they could do it. They could do anything together. She exhaled slowly and looked up at him, not yet willing to pull out of the embrace. 

He was looking off to the side, clearly still wary and just as surprised as she was that they hadn’t been crushed to death. But she’d let him survey the room and begin to work the problem. She was far too content memorizing the pattern of his facial hair along his jaw. He had always been so clean-shaven, almost boyish, in the past. She still had trouble dealing with this new look to go along with the new him, the stubble, the short hair, the open collars. She knew why, intellectually, his appearance and style had changed, but it still threw her off balance. And now, she had a few moments, as inopportune as they were, to really ( _admire_ ) catalogue all the changes when he couldn’t avoid her gaze or run away. 

Her conversation with Bobbi flashed into her mind suddenly. “I never thought of him as anything else,” she had said. ( _You’re a surprisingly bad liar._ )

“Fitz,” she whispered, and he turned to look at her. He pulled back a little, surprised at how close their faces were, but he didn’t drop his eyes. She felt a smile tug at her lips. 

“I think the ride will be worth it.”

His brow furrowed in confusion, but she didn’t bother clarifying. The kiss she pressed to his lips would need to be explanation enough. It didn’t really feel like the sudden, terrifying drop of a rollercoaster though. More like a rocket taking off into the blue sky and soaring into the heavens.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a huge meta post in me somewhere about the parallels between Simmons and Ward, and how if I didn't ship FS like FedEx, then Simmons/Ward would be my twisted!OTP even now, and why the issues that need to be worked out between FitzSimmons and Ward are so much more compelling than any SkyeWard drama, but this fic will have to do instead. 
> 
> Also, sorry if the formatting made it difficult to read. I was trying to do something very specific with it, and the fact that Simmons could never think her own name or Ward's, and I'm not sure it came across like I intended to.


End file.
